As The World Breaks
by saleucami
Summary: Spoilers for most seasons.They made it through alive and everything's fucking rainbows and cupcakes. But now Dean was on his own in a world too harsh for him to handle. In a world that had been breaking him apart as soon as he was born. Now he's off to find Crowley in one last attempt to still the frustration and anger in his heart. And to think things would only become worse.
1. Chapter 1

**0.**  
**"You're fine, Dean."**

Dean was _fine_.

It was over now. The Apocalypse, The Leviathans, angels trying to hunt them down. All of it was over. After that it took a week before Sam said he needed a break. From hunting and from death and most of all from Dean. And Dean hadn't pressured or argued and just let go. He was tired as well. Beat. Done. But most of all he wasn't very keen to keep Sam around to watch him as he gave up. Sam had always had the potential to live a normal life while Dean knew he wasn't - and never had been - cut to fit in to the normalicy planned out for them when they were kids. Life had never been good to either of them but Dean was always the one who seemed to be fine with that. Sam on the other hand always had his goals set on finishing school and getting married and forgetting these past few years. So after all of this Sam did exactly what he had been aiming for and Dean just let go and started riding solo. If it had happened earlier he would've never left Sam behind or even let him out of his sight. But things were different now and Dean didn't even look back when they parted ways.

It had been 8 months since then.

Jo and Ellen were long gone. So was Bobby. Sam had called just a handful of times to check up on him. But his voice was nothing but strained and forced. Like he wasn't doing it because he wanted to. Dean didn't care. He blamed himself for how things turned out. He tortured himself with it. Because if he hadn't pulled the people he loved into this mess they might've still been alive. Even if that was probably just wishful thinking. If they went back in time to do it all over again, Dean would have done so many things differently and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to change things. Save them one by one.

Saved Cas.

That's right. Then there's Castiel.

Castiel, the angel, who brought him out of Hell. Who saved their asses so many times Dean had lost count. Who became somewhat family and finally snapped under the pressure of trying to do the right thing. That fucking stupid son of a bitch. But he didn't just die without a word. God no, not before telling Dean he was sorry with eyes that had made his heart clench and all the anger had dissolved in an instant and he said they would take one step at a time. Because it was _Cas_. But things never seem to go the way he wants them to. The angel he trusted with his life had lost in the end and all Dean had was the dirty, bloodstained and worn-out trenchcoat in the trunk of his Impala and a road leading nowhere but towards more grief and thoughts of revenge on everyone and everything getting in the way.

Well, that was until Cas came back from the dead - _again_ - and Dean hadn't even hesitated before grabbing hold of him like his life depended on it. First he thought it was because of the angel not remembering who he was or what he had done(because let's face it, that was pretty much the best thing that could've happened to Cas) but he soon came to realize that it wasn't. He did it because it was _Cas._ It took just a second - a long second that felt like an hour - for Dean to see that it wasn't just a cruel joke or his mind playing tricks. It wasn't an illusion. It was Cas in all his holy self, hidden behind the confused expression of a suburban healer. Cas that was still the same forgiving, loving and stiff asshole he'd always been but with a different nametag. So Dean wiped the lost puppy look off of his face with a little help from Meg and it came back. The memories of who Cas really was. His once lost little nametag was slapped across his face to wake him up.

But it brought along a lot of pain. Dean could feel it circle around them and see how it settled itself inside deep, terrified, blue eyes. He had never seen Castiel look that lost, that devestated and utterly shattered about anything before. But Sam was dying and they didn't have time to have a deep conversation about how crappy they were feeling. They could save that for later.

Castiel saved Sam's brain from becoming ghost Lucifer's midnight snack for the rest of eternity. After that he was gone again in a flash, replaced by some nutjob telling them to pull his finger and play twister. But at least he was around. And by the time they went after Dick, Dean had practically already forgotten about who started the Leviathan outbreak in the first place. Or he had at least tried to push the thoughts of Cas's betrayal away to a secluded area inside his mind. Because he trusted him and that was his problem. Especially after already getting stabbed in the back once. But it was _Cas_ and he was there. Flesh and blood. But that didn't last very long either.

They had been standing too close to the Leviathan. Far too close when Dean had pierced the bone through the neck of that stuck-up jerk and instead of moving away himself, he had pushed Dean over to Sam who caught him practically mid-air. Dean had seen his eyes before he was gone. A quick flash. They had been so soft, so determined and so ready to die. What could he had done to save him? It was too late. It would've been even if he had known beforehand what he should've done. Cas had wanted to die and Dean was left on Earth to wonder if he would ever come back and if there was a point in even living anymore now that he had lost everyone.

But that was 8 months ago.

He wanted to believe Cas was alive. Hell, he_ did_ believe. And sooner or later Cas would pop back in with his usual 'hello, Dean' and his constant trespassing into Dean's personal space and things would just go back to how they were. With Dean and Sam hunting things, riding through the country, crashing in dirty motels. Which might have not much to do with Cas but Dean would still be able to get a good night's sleep without wondering if the angel was being chewed on or tortured. Because Cas magically ended up in those situations more often than not.

As of right now, he was once again keeping himself occupied in a motel. This time he had ended up in Watertown, South Dakota and the thing that brought him there in the first place was nothing in particular. He was only passing through when sleepless nights caught up with him and told him to rest. Which explained why he was drinking whiskey like his life depended on it 1:17 in the morning. Although he was beat and could use a few hours of sleep there was something that kept him awake. It might be the nightmares of Cas in Hell or in Heaven or why not even in Purgatory. Dean didn't know where the hell he had ended up this time. But he had nightmares of all the possibilities above. But it might also be nightmares about Lucifer slicing off Sam's skin down in the Cage. It might even be the nightmares of seeing Bobby die in that hospital bed. But it was always something. And it was always nightmares.

So the whiskey was an escape plan and had been helping him manage for a few months now when he knew he really needed to sleep without having any dreams telling him of all the things that went wrong. And he wasn't going to be judged when alcohol was his way of getting himself through the day without actually killing himself in some stupid car crash for passing out behind the wheel. Or driving the car off of a bridge on purpose just to stop the guilt and grief. Alcohol helped. A lot.

But sure, he was _fine_.

He took another sip and let out a low sigh. The bed beside the one he was currently sitting on was empty, of course, if you didn't count the bag of weapons and books what was by the foot of it. He had unconciously said "two queens" when he checked in out of old habit of having Sam with him. It wasn't until he actually closed the door behind him that he realized he was on his own nowadays. Sam was probably playing happy family with Amelia without even thinking about what Dean was up to. Or maybe he was. Dean didn't care. He didn't have the strength to care now that he was alone and free to do whatever he god damn wanted. Although Sam's number was perfectly placed on speed dial. Just in case something went terribly wrong.

But that was Sam's words, not his. That Dean should call if he needed help with anything. He knew he would never actually do it. He would probably be dead in a few more months anyway. Tied up nicely in Hell like the good old days. He could imagine some demons throwing him around like a stick for the hellhounds to go fetch. Not that it bothered him much. He had a plan. The plan did involve dying, no way out of that one, but he was going to take as many demonic assbags with him as he could.

With a snort and one last chug from the bottle he decided to try and get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**1.**  
**"It's a trap."**

Morning came quickly. It was only 8, but he knew that was probably as good as he could do sleep-wise. 20 minutes later he was in a small diner, not much different from countless of other ones he had been to, and the breakfast was getting colder by the minute. It was sweet smelling pancakes that made the whole place feel sort of safe and pleasant. He had eaten a bit of it but stopped when his eyes caught an article, an article making him figure that taking the route through Watertown hadn't been all too bad after all. Not when you were practically itching for a good hunt.

The title was of no particular interest. It was the article itself that made him see the dark promise of a good hunt. A murder, of course, in the center of the town. Some high and mighty douchebag getting his heart ripped and stolen(or eaten) out of his chest outside of an elementary school. The police claimed it was an 'animal attack' but Dean knew better. God, he'd come across enough werewolves in his days to know one when they came along. But at the same time something was clearly off about this. Dean knew for a fact that it hadn't been a full moon the night before, making it more likely to be a pureblood werewolf. And it didn't make much sense that the werewolf would just happen to strike the same night he arrived into town. May it be coincidence, sure, but it might also be that the werewolves knew Dean had made the grand entrance in their little shithole of a town and they wanted to make a scene to lure him out of his filthy motel room loaded with silver and weapons.

And that was completely fine by him. He was more than happy to grab a gun and go out to hunt some monsters and make sure they regretted even telling him about themselves. He hadn't met a werewolf in what felt like ages. They might be pureblood and they might know who he was, but they had no idea what he had become after all that had happened. And they had no idea how much his veins popped and boiled. He was going to become their worst nightmare.

With a swift motion he shoved another piece of pancakes into his mouth and got up. The newspaper now tucked nicely under his arm as he threw a few bills on the table and headed outside, back to the motel to change clothes and go federal. Just so he could figure out where to look first and get a good look on the victim's body just to make sure. These scabby assholes weren't going to make it out of this alive. Not with Dean Winchester there.

It only took him a few hours to figure out the location of those wolves. It still bugged him. The way it seemed they _wanted_ to be found. They practically left a trail of bread crumbs for Dean to follow all the way to the fallen warehouse located slightly outside of the center of the town. He could practically feel their scent in the air and by the looks of it, this wasn't even close to being their actual layer or home. Dean knew better than that. It smelled vicious dogs and a trap from miles away. But he wasn't backing down and he wasn't going to turn on his heels and run. That wasn't in his nature.

He was armed with silver bullets in two guns. One tucked in his belt and the other held tightly between his hands. It felt like it would be enough to take them down. If it even was a 'them'. He wasn't sure yet if it was just one or more. But he figured the wolves would be smart enough to not try and take him on by themselves.

The gravel underneath his boots crushed and screamed as he walked towards the door. His eyes and ears completely on edge to any unusual sounds or sights as he made his way quickly over, back against the side of the building. If he ended up dying, at least he wouldn't be one to go down without a fight. He always figured he would go down in battle. Hell, it wasn't like he hadn't already done so a few times.

The night was warm and the sky clear. Stars were crowding above him, the moon hidden behind another building, and a light and rather refreshing breeze danced across his clenched jaw. Nothing seemed to be hiding around another corner to attack as he came closer but he knew he was an expected visitor. God, did he know. And it made his heart beat with adrenaline and his blood boil with pushed down anger he had stored for weeks, maybe even months. Hell, maybe even fucking _years_. He hated them with all that he had become. He hated all of the creatures and spirits and whatevers out there. Because if they didn't exist he wouldn't be having this life right now. He wouldn't be this emotionless wreck of a human being with nowhere else to go. And maybe some people in his life would still be alive.

His mom and dad, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Adam, Ash, Pamela.

God damn it. Everyone.

And Cas wouldn't be there because he would have no reason to ever step down from Heaven to begin with. And Jimmy Novak would still be alive. But Cas wouldn't be there and Dean would've never known what kind of impact he would make on his life. Dean wouldn't have gotten so attatched. He wouldn't have opened his arms and called him his brother, friend, family, only to be stabbed in the back and left alone to rot in his own alcohol-filled loneliness. He wouldn't have had to feel like shit for everything he had ever done to Castiel. Castiel would be a stranger and Dean would still believe angels weren't real. And Dean knew he was lying when he thought it would be a lot better that way.

He clenched his jaw shut tighter and stopped at the side of the door. His hands were holding the gun steady, lowered towards the ground as he listened. But no sound came from inside. So without thinking twice, without caring that this might be the end for him if it turned out to be_ a lot_ more than one wolf inside, he pulled the door open and aimed the gun.

At first there was darkness and nothing else, but as soon as he took a few steps inside with all his senses still on edge, the door shut behind him. He had jerked in surprise and aimed back at the door, but nothing was there. He turned around again, a slight pang of panic running through his body as his eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly. They were locking him into their trap with ease, it seemed. The rustle of a chain slamming against the door behind his back. Maybe they figured everything was going according to plan. When the lights suddenly flickered and threw bright light across the warehouse he noted that there was definitley more than one wolf there. He lowered the gun with a snort and a roll of the eyes, relaxing his shoulders as he took confident steps inside. One of the men in the room clapped his hands and stretched his arms out, grinning from ear to ear.

"Dean Winchester. What a pleasure to have you here. We've been waiting."

Dean looked around without answering, counting the people in the room. Eight. They were eight inside and one or two more outside. He was right about the trap. But he wasn't sure he cared. He snorted with an amused smile as he glanced back at the guy. He was wearing a black suit and matching black-rimmed glasses, looking like any taxpayer out there. But his grin was bad news even in a distance and his eyes were telling Dean there was more to this than just killing him.

"Just eight of you?" He managed to get out with a light laugh. "Seems like kind of a boring party, don't you think?"

The people growled, but the man was still smiling and by the looks of it he was more than amused.

"Sorry to dissapoint you." He said and turned to look at the others, making them all quiet down, before his eyes caught Dean's. "I'm Robert."

"Pleasure." Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Robert laughed whole heartedly. "Ah, Dean, I wasn't quite expecting you to come alone. Where's that baby brother of yours? Or the feathery fellow?" His smile grew when he saw the look on Dean's face "Quite interesting they let you go here alone, don't you think?"

Dean felt himself twitch but managed to force out a smile in return. He shrugged and stopped a few meters away from the guy, eyeing the surroundings for escape routes, hidden weapons if he ran out of bullets too soon, hiding wolves that might be around.

"Last time I checked they were on a beach somewhere having wonderful pink drinks." He paused before changing the subject easily. "So, you're the big bad wolf? These are all your rabid fight-puppies?"

"My children. And soldiers when needed." His expression was creeping Dean out. "Let's talk, shall we? Sit down."

One of the wolves dragged out a chair and placed it next to him. He kept his eyes on the woman until she backed off and went back to the rest of them. As he turned his head towards the, what should he even call him, pack leader, he noted that he was still smiling. He cocked his head to the side and looked at the chair.

"Thanks, but I'd rather stand. But hey, sure, let's talk anyway." With dark eyes he glanced at one wolf after another and stretched his arms out before he raised his eyebrows expectedly, pointing around with the gun in his hand. His voice harsh and loud. "How about you tell me why I shouldn't kill all of you shabby assholes right now. You wanted me to come hunt you down. Here I am. Come at me."

"Dean, Dean, Dean. So eager to die, I hear." The man shook his head and clasped his hands together. "I don't want to fight you, silly. I want to make you an offer."

It wasn't the first time someone had tried to offer him a second of peace for something in return. It wasn't even the first time he had been in a situation when 'no' would be the death of him. But he was a Winchester. Feared by many, loved by less. Always turning offers like these down. And he wouldn't feel too comfortable running around with a pack of stray dogs at his tail anyway.

"An offer?"

"Yes." Robert snapped his fingers and one of the men behind him hurried over, carrying a wooden box with both hands. Robert took it with a thankful nod. "You see, I have something that might interest you."

"I highly doubt that."

The man's smile turned into a grin as he took a few steps closer. Dean backed away and raised his gun with a shake of his head. "I don't think so, douchebag. I suggest you keep your distance."

"Now, now. Let's not get hostile." But he stopped when Dean kept his stiff posture and turned his attention to the box in his hands. "A little bird told me you've been looking for Crowley. Am I right?"

He was. But Dean wasn't going to say anything. Birds or whatever, if Crowley got a heads up he was coming there would be at least a million sorry-ass demons on his tracks trying to hunt him down. That he couldn't risk. Especially when he had been tracking the British bastard for a few months and was close enough to smell him by now. If he wasn't careful he wouldn't get what he was looking for. Which was Crowley's head on a plate.

So he kept his mouth shut and tried to look like he didn't know what the man was talking about. Which seemed to amuse Robert even more since he let out a low chuckle and finally clicked the lock open of the box, glancing up at Dean again.

"Don't worry. We're not on his side either." He turned the box around, crouching to put it down on the cement floor. "Let's just say we have our own issues with him and we're a little bit cranky. Cranky enough to make a deal with you instead of ripping your heart out."

"You think I'll believe that?" He rolled his eyes, feeling his fingers itching to pull the trigger at the man.

"Well, yes. All we want is a little treat in return."

"Scooby snacks?"

Robert smirked. "You're funny."

He opened the box slowly and as soon as the content was visible Dean's eyes widened.

The Colt.

Dean had been looking for that gun for months now and killed a countless amount of demons to figure out where it was. He lost track of it completely a few weeks before when he found out it had been stolen and cities were now being turned upside down by demons in search for it. He took a small step closer.

His wide eyes snapped up to meet Robert's, disbelief written across his face. Robert, having a pleased expression, sent a wink his way and turned around to walk back towards his pack. Dean took two steps closer to the box, his head swimming with what he should do.

"Now, Dean, I think we can discuss this deal a bit further. Don't you think?"

Dean growled slightly in the back of his throat and crouched down to pick the gun up, examining in to make sure it wasn't just a cheap copy of the real deal. The weight and feeling of having it in his hand was familiar. Somewhat almost rough. The memories of having used it becoming very clear in his mind. The death of the yellow-eyed demon being the clearest of them all. He opened it with a quick move and checked the bullets before clicking it back shut and pulling the hammer back. Robert was watching calmly, hands resting in his pockets, as Dean aimed the gun directly at him.

"Sure." He said between his teeth, eyes hard and dark. "You let me out of here and I won't kill you sons a bitches."

"I figured you'd say something like that." He muttered and sighed. "Oh well, are you sure you're going to say no?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. This beats running around with a doggy daycare up my ass."

There was a low growl going through the pack as Robert's face turned into a frown. Dean took a few steps back after taking the small box of bullets for the Colt and stuffed them in his pocket.

"Well, if that's what you really want we can't stop you, can we?" Robert said with a roll of the eyes and raised his hand, snapping his fingers.

The pack started moving and Dean fired his first shot.


	3. Chapter 3

**2.**  
**"Rebel Monster"**

His breathing felt strained and painful. His ribs felt crushed into a million tiny pieces that were scratching him from the inside out. Nothing made sense as his mind slowly cleared up from the foggy darkness. The pain said more than a million things. The gentle whistling somewhere around him and the softness underneath his head said even more. The confusion forced him to open his eyes. A blurry vision of something dark collided with his stinging eyes as he stayed motionless with the pain pounding in his ears as he waited for it to clear up. There was a faint smell of coffee circling the air around him and after blinking repeatedly for almost a minute he finally saw the brown, cracked ceiling above him and his confusion grew. His insides felt twisted and swollen as he slowly turned his head to the side to see worn-out furniture in dull, dark colors and the shadow of someone standing across the room. His lips moved but no sound came, only a harsh exhale that sent a new wave of stabbing pain through his chest.

He tried again and shut his eyes tight to force his voice out. Dry lips and thick tongue trying to form words but instead sending a staggered groan from the back of his throat. Although the figure must've heard it the only thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the same whistling shadow at the other side of the room. With a frustrated sigh that sent another sharp stab through him, though a bit less painful than a moment ago, he tried to move his body in order to push himself up. He had to get out of there as soon as possible. He had no idea who this figure was, or what it was, which was enough to make him feel the warning signs beaming at him from within.

The pain kept him in place. He couldn't sit up, couldn't even turn his body to the side. He relaxed back into the pillow under his head and closed his eyes again. The worst thing was that he had no idea how he got there. The last thing he remembered was getting thrown into one of the walls in the warehouse and get the air knocked out of him enough to make him stay in his place longer than he should've. But everything after that was blurry and dark. He didn't remember anything about how he got out of there and the darkness scared him. Especially when just a small bite or scratch would be enough to eventually send him to the local kennel in search for four-legged friends.

But he remembered he had the Colt for a while. Had he dropped it? Had they taken it back?

Another jolt of pain went through him and he tensed and let out another sharp breath. Nothing felt like it worked anymore. His hands, arms, legs. It all just felt like one big, bloody bruise itching and scratching and burning. It was nothing compared to previous painful blows he'd experienced through the years but it was still painful enough to keep him in place. The figure finally turned around to look at him but the whistled melody that seemed somewhat familiar kept creeping through the air. As it stopped, Dean noticed that the figure, the man, was beside him in the half-dark room.

"Rest, brother." A voice suddenly said and Dean felt himself tense up. The figure moved towards him, face hidden in shadows but Dean still saw the stubby beard on the person's face. "You need all the strength you can get for this one."

And somewhere along the tension he dozed off. Probably from using strength he didn't have.

The next time Dean woke up the room was bright and warm and the air around him thick. Still with the same scent of newly made coffee. He tried to move again and was surprised to feel only a small sting here and there in his chest and back. His eyes cautiously danced across the room again as he sat up, his bare feet settling on the warm wooden floor. He was on a couch dressed in navy green in one corner of the room with a big window behind him giving off a small display of the outside surroundings. The only thing he saw was trees and a clear blue sky peeking through between the leaves.

Slowly, still careful not to burst something that just healed as well as to not make any noises, he stood. He was still stiff and sore but that wouldn't stop him. It was only like a dull ache after a rough exercise.

"I see you're up and about." A voice said suddenly that sent Dean to stumble two steps over his own feet in surprise.

He looked up with a frown, face stiff, as the figure crossed the room with a bag thrown over his shoulder and the white shirt fit across his built body. Dean raised his hands a bit, ready and defensive. He recognized the beard and the wide shoulders from the night before. But he didn't expect to see such pure, blue eyes on the stranger's face. They were deep and bottomless, showing endless of mysterious things Dean pictured himself asking questions about later. And they reminded him of eyes that were just as deep and blue and pure. His body relaxed automatically although he kept his eyes and ears perked for any sudden movements. The atmosphere around him was welcoming and harmless. But Dean Winchester had learned through the years that even that could stab someone in the back.

"Who are you?" He commanded with a hoarse tone, clearing his throat after the words left. A small sting sent him to grab his side and flinch but he had his eyes glued to the man.

"No 'thank you' for saving your sweet behind?" There was a laugh and Dean's eyes hardened. But the voice was husky and the accent southern. The pure tone still not completely hiding the string of something dark behind it but somewhat still settling as harmless in Dean's head. "If you don't like 'saviour' we could go with 'friend'."

With a clenched jaw and hands slowly lowering, Dean made his way over towards the table at the other end of the room. Mostly because he saw both his jacket hanging on one of the chairs and a window in a door that helped the sunlight dance over the floor. It was his escape route if he had to use it. His eyes were landing on and off on the man on his way there as to make sure, as to judge, as to figure things out. The man turned away with a small mocking snort and threw the bag down on the floor, opening it to pull out the contents. Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously when he noticed the red liquid in plastic bags.

Blood.

"I understand your concern, brother. But I'm no enemy of yours." The man said smoothly as he packed the plastic bags into the fridge in the small kitchen area. Dean didn't even notice how he growled angirly in the back of his throat.

"Right. Not for nothing, but I've just never seen a fanger pack and store their dinner before." He hissed and glanced around for anything to use as a potential weapon if he had to. The hate, the anger and the itch to kill this being had to wait. He had to, for once, ask first and kill later instead of the other way around. But he had to find something to defend himself with if he had to.

"Benny." The vampire said and glanced over to make eyecontact. Dean made a face. "Coffee?"

"No thanks." He snarled. "Where the hell am I? And why the hell would a vampire save me and patch me up?"

Benny chuckled, the laugh amused, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Dean wanted to vomit when he saw the vampire mix in a rich amount of blood into the cup before making his way over to the table. He noticed that the vampire was as cautious as he was and kept his distance in case Dean would decide he'd had enough of the small talk and wanted some real answers. And truth be told, it was starting to get to that. He sank down by the table and leaned back, eyes staring in wonder at the standing hunter as he sipped the coffee mixture silently.

"We need to talk." He said after a moment of silence and observing. His once amused face had fallen into a serious frown as he placed the cup down on the table and gestured for Dean to sit down on the opposite side of him. "This might take a while, so I suggest you sit."

Dean glanced at the chair before his eyes fell back on Benny's face. Slowly, feet dragging over the warm floor, he pulled the chair out and sat. There was a familiar feeling of comfort and insecurity in the pit of his stomach but also a voice telling him to get out of there while he could. Split between the two he felt himself not paying much attention to what the vampire in front of him actually had to say. Although he knew by the serious tone that he would have to listen.

"You're the only good one still out there." Benny said. His voice was no longer as smooth but instead low and with a hint of darkness hanging over it. "You're the only one in the game and you're trying to kill yourself."

Dean turned in his seat, uncomfortable that this thing in front of him was going in on territory he wasn't authorized to touch. He raised his eyebrows with a snort and looked away. He didn't answer. Nothing he would say could make it sound like Benny was wrong. Because he wasn't. Although Dean hadn't seen it like that, not entirely anyway, it was like he had searched them out with his hands tied behind his back as a free treat.

"Life isn't fun, brother." He continued and leaned back. "It's a constant struggle. And giving up is a sign of weakness."

"Who said anything about giving up?" His voice came out harsher than intended. "I'm out of here."

He got up about halfway with a hiss at the sting in his side when the vampire spoke again. "There's things you need to know."

"And you think I'm just going to listen and believe you?" Dean laughed darkly as he made his way over to the couch he'd been sleeping in. His dirty leather jacket folded and placed on a chair beside it. "Not a chance, honey."

"As long as you listen you can do whatever you want afterwards."

Dean snorted and picked the jacket up, examining it for scratches and found a few, before he pulled it on and turned around. "Where's the guns?"

"You'll get them back. Even the old one." Benny stood, drinking the last sip from the coffee before he moved over to the counter. "Crowley sent the wolves. Because he thought you wouldn't stand a chance against that many."

"And you know this because..?" Dean said as he finally found himself listening.

"I just do. And I know why he wants you dead." He turned towards the hunter, back leaning against the counter and arms crossed once again. "You're in the way. He knows you're after him and you're messing up the grand plan."

"Grand plan? What does that even mean?" Dean said with disbelief in his voice. But he would admit Benny had caught his attention by now. And by the looks of it, by the looks of those eyes, it seemed like the vampire was telling the truth.

"Crowley is the ruler of Hell now. But he doesn't want to be. He wants to continue on with his dealing and his free life on the surface instead of down in the pit. You know he wanted Lucifer gone and you even co-operated with him to make it happen.. But it was all because he knew he would be king if Lucifer disappeared again."

"But why wasn't he king before Lucifer rose?"

"Choice. He doesn't have a choice anymore. After you trapped Lucifer back in his cage, Crowley was forced to take charge. And he doesn't want the power and leadership anymore."

Dean frowned and tilted his head. "So you're saying he's planning to abdicate?"

"You could say that. Or you could say he's going to give the crown back where it belongs."

Crowley had always been smart. Dean knew that well enough by now and would never in a million years admit he thought so. But it was true. Hearing this, a grand plan, something huge, seemed to be one of the dumbest things he's ever heard. The crown belonged with either Crowley or Lucifer. Hearing this sent a chill down his spine. The vampire had to be lying. Nothing like this could happen again. The cage was unbreakable. It had to be now that the war was over.

"And you think I'll believe you?" He muttered.

"You could just go about with you regular life and not bother about it. But that would be a huge mistake."

"How do I know I can trust you on this?" He knew the question was idiotic. Either way he wouldn't know if this was the truth or not. But if it was, he had to hunt down Crowley before this went further.

"Let's just say you'll just have to listen to the monster for once." Benny said with a smile. "Welcome to Round 2 of the Apocalypse."


End file.
